The Messenger
by droolingfanfemme
Summary: *Chapter 8* A team of Assassins have found a way to fix history. Through using the Animus as a time travel vehicle, Burke and his team send a member back to incrementally erase the problem of the Templars once and for all. But how will the future be changed through their reworking of history? Will the Order have a new focus? Please R&R! Altair/Ezio/OC Assassins Rating for Language
1. Ring Finger

"I don't understand why I have to get all these shots," Justine whined. Yusef grabbed her by the arm, "Finished?"

"No. Are you?"

He jabbed the hypodermic into her arm. "Nope." She winced. Needles were not her thing. "We know the strains of simple diseases 500 years ago would put you on your ass or worse. Everything mutated since then and our 21st century, air-conditioned, bubble-wrapped lifestyle would literally kill you." He gestured to the row of six used syringes on the metal tray. "These are to help you not die. We're not sure how long you'll be there, so the least you could do is thank me." He peered over his glasses at her. She shivered and grumbled something akin to a 'thanks' and looked away.

A knock came from the doorway. Burke stood there, hand over his head. "Hey, Doc. How's the patient?"

"Being a whiny little bitch."

She turned to say something back, but saw the next needle on it's way and shut up.

"So, perfectly fine?" Burke said. "Great. How long until she'll be ready?"

Yusef removed the fifth from her arm, wiping away a drop off blood with his gloves. "Well, this cocktail is gonna make her kind loopy for a little while, plus we'll need to watch for reactions to anything before we send her back. Earliest, I'd say four days, five? I'd like a week, if we can spare it."

"Let's say five and we can go from there." Yusef nodded curtly. Burke turned his attention to the lab rat. "How are you doing? Have your been going over the files?"

Justine nodded. "Mhm. I still want to run a few more scenarios before we do this. Everything stills feels too smooth. I'd need to do more DTL simulations."

"Good idea, Fitz." She could tell Burke was running them in his head already. "I'll have Grant and Hanover set up a few for you. But judging by your Doctor stern disapproval face, I'd say we'll run those while you're under."

"Cool, thanks Bur-OW!"

Burke walked down the hallway, smiling slightly to himself. There, the other two members were waiting. Kylee Hanover, resident 'mother hen" and envoy to the other factions. And Thomas Grant, the newest acquistion. Surprisingly quick with electronics, Grant was the IT guy. Computers, laptop, ANimus, no problem. A good find.

"So are we sure this is going to work? I don't like the idea of just hopefully flinging a human being 500 years into the past." The woman screwed her eyes shut, trying to look away from the monitor for a little while. "I mean, even with all the prep work, it's going to be a culture shock. Not to mention all the _Sound of Thunder_ bullshit."

"Bradbury. Nice, Hanover."

"Thanks, but that's not the point. Or it is the point. Not matter how careful we are, it's going to mess up everything."

"Here's hoping it completely erases the Templars," Grant chimed in, chugging from a soda bottle.

"Something is going to change, absolutely. But we can control as much of it as we can, we can erase the need for The Guild. And I think I'd be alright that, to be honest." Burke tilted his head back for a moment. He had lost a lot when he was conscripted into the order. He thumbed through a journal atop a pile on the workstation. They all had. "And the great thing about time travel is, she'll be back before we know it."

"But what if she comes back all old 'r something?" Grant asked. "It'd be all like whoa? Y'know?"

"She knows how long she's got, Thom. She'll only be gone a year, if everything goes correctly. And her first run will only be five hours, to plant the seed. The next to are just for a minute. We can track that event as soon as it happens and she's back." He picked up the journal. "If there's no record of it, we scrap it and continue to Plan B. But if there is, we can begin to reshape history from its future."

Hanover and Grant cast side-long glances at each other. "So...slow clap now?" Grant offered raising his eyebrows. Hanover laughed to herself.

Burke rolled his eyes in the self-deprecating way he always did "Har har, guys. Let's finish those sims and run a diagnostic on the Animus. Yusef, how are the results coming on those strains?"

Yusef looked up and popped out an earbud. "It's coming along, but it's slow going. Since I'm just basically reverse engineering 500 years of virii and bacteria-"

"No, I understand. It's gonna be a bitch and a half," Burke finished for him. "You've got the biggest hill to climb on this project. We need to keep our girl safe on the other side."

"I appreciate the 'go-get-'em' speech, but I'm really, honestly guessing here. I can tweak it a bit more, but without a concrete body, I won't be able to get specifics. I mean, if everything goes according to plan, her exposure in the past might yield some interesting, measurable results, but I won't know until she gets back."

"I gotcha. Do what you can."

Four days were all she needed to get back on her feet. She was reviewing the history and the layout of Masyaf while in bed. When her eyes got heavily, she'd count in Arabic, and try to order hummus. She wanted to see what it would be like to be tortured by the Guild a thousand years ago, stuck forever in time. Fitz, like the rest, was always on the run. Templars hunted them all, trying to balance the scales in their favor. All over the world, for years. Yusef was the one who brought her into the fold. He always had a stern exterior for Burke, and would give her a sound thrashing if she deserved it, but knew she required a gentler touch. She hoped she'd be able to come back to see him.

"Okay, are we ready?"

"Animus time capabilities are showing life," Grant called back. "Operational capacity in about four minutes."

"Hanover?"

"Nothing on the feed yet. Templars are more focused on the financial crises in Europe. Little chatter about Venezuela."

"Yusef, talk to me."

"The innoculations will be good against most basic forms of disease. Her immune system has been boosted to the point of saturation." he turned his attention toward Justine. "Whatever you do, don't seek medical attention, no matter what. Medical science is literally in the dark ages. Cures will kill more often than not. Once we get to the big one, we'll send you with drugs and other first aid."

Burke stood by the terminal. All recorded history of the Guild painstakingly catalogued, he bookmarked all necessary pages that would be immediately changed and knew the pathways that would ripple after the events.

"Fitz. You're up."

She sat perched on the edge of the Animus. Her head and face were covered, half swimming in long robes. "Okay, let's do this." She recited the Creed in the ancient tongue under her breath as Grant pressed the sensors onto her skin, having to reach up her sleeves to the correct contact points. Upon finishing her recitation, she lifted her left ring finger and kissed her scar. They all repeated the action.

"Next stop, Masyaf, 1248."

Grant stepped back and began the input. "Five hours. Get in, deliver the message, come back to the jump point and activate the return protocol." She felt at the belted holster she was wearing under her robes. "We'll be waiting for you."

"Hopefully not long," Fitz breathed. She was getting swimmy-headed. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to stop things from spinning. The vizor came down as Grant stepped away. Her own reflection showed her a woman she hadn't seen before. Her eyes looked different somehow, frightened.

"Countdown initiated. Ten."

_ Oh dear god_.

"Nine."

_ This is it._

"Eight. Sev-"

"I can do this. I can do this," she whispered.

"Six. Five."

"I get to meet him."

"Four."

"I will change history."

"Three."

"Ready or not, Altair. Here I-"

"Go." The lights arcing the Animus went brilliant white. All the energy in the room was sucked into the chair. Search lights popped and exploded. Burke instinctively ducked for a moment. When he turned around, the chair was empty. She was gone.


	2. Shaking Hands

Just warming up, everybody! UbiSoft's are Ubi's, mine are mine.

* * *

"Come." She gasped for air. Her body felt like fire and ice, all at once. Fitz's body made itself sit in the dust for a moment. _I did it. __I-me- I did it. I'm here._ She pulled herself to her feet and surveyed the area. The wind whipped around her, whistling through the sparse trees. Masyaf. She was on the outskirts, so she began walking toward the citadel.

Her mind raced. _Will he really look like what we think he looks like? What if he won't see me? What if I get captured or killed? I am a member. Maybe that will be enough? What am I supposed to say?_

It took her about an hour to get to the village. She adjusted her headscarf and began her mission. She walked through. Observing life as she never would have dreamed. The Animus just recalled nucleotides and synaptic responses. These were real people with lives. They would live and die footnotes. If she lived through this, posterity would watch this through their Animus. They'd live her time travel. _What's the plural of Animus? Animi? Animuses?_

Her musing was cut short as a patrol marched its way through the crowd. Fitz stood aside with the others as five of the Order passed. Amazing. She looked up the cliffs to the fortress. This where it all started and where it was reborn. She had heard that somewhere, but she couldn't remember.

She made her way toward the road from where the patrol had come. A few stood guard, but several villagers walked past unimpeded. The Order was not self sufficient. They relied on trade with the village and the further cities. She lowered her head, took a breath, and jumped in with the next crowd. She could feel eyes on her as she passed. Did they know? This was probably the worst place to stage an assassination.

Fitz passed by without incident and took a few moments to inspect her surroundings. The walls were crumbling, surely after centuries of disrepair. The final entry from Auditore's account remarked on the dilapidated state, but that wouldn't be for another 300 years. The tall banners of the Guild fluttered in the strong breeze. As she stood in a macabre reverie for a bit, a man approached her.

"Woman, what business do you have here?"

Syrian. _ I know Syrian._

"Sir, I bear a message for Master ibn-La'Ahad." She displayed her left hand and removed her ring. The guard peered down at her.

"And what is that to me, woman?" He displayed his own left hand, ring finger gone. She had forgotten. "Go back to you husband." He turned away.

"Wait!" she stammered. "I know this place! I stand in the Fortress of the Assassin's Guild. The current Master slayed the previous only in the last year."

"Anyone in the village knows that."

"Look at me and know I am not of your village." Quickly, she lifted her headscarf and removed the cloth from her face. "I am a member of the Order, from across the sea and sand. They do not cut the fingers of women to help us better hide. Please, I must speak to the Master. I have an important message that concerns the Order." She replaced her coverings and stood silent. The guard hemmed and hawed for a minute, looking her over, unsure.

"Here, take my ring to him. Put me in a cell. I invite no calamity, nor do I will I do harm. I wish only to deliver my message and be on my way."

"Very well, woman." He said at length. "Stay ahead of me." He pushed her forward and kept a hand on her shoulder, steering her toward a portcullis. A table with a couple of watchmen had been watching the scene and stood at their approach. The guard dug his fingers in, signaling a stop.

"She says she has words for the Master. She claims to be one of us. Put her in a cell and remove her weapons." The other guards gave her the same odd look, but did as commanded.

"Wait!" she commanded. "You're forgetting..." She removed her ring and tossed it to him. "I'll be waiting." SHe hoped her bravado would mask how badly she shaking.

The two others grabbed her by the shoulders and marched her down a corridor of cells. Only a few were occupied, by men who seemed too wrapped up in their own heads to look up. She was taken to one at the end of the corridor, away from prying eyes and ears. The door swung open. Nothing in there but dust and a tiny window high overhead.

"Weapons." The younger barked. She nodded politely and began to remove her coverings. One by one, the dagger, the needles, the holster (which they spent a lot of time investigating) came off and were set on the floor. She stood in a loose shirt and her underwear. She suddenly realized she was wearing a huge anachronism, but tried very hard not to draw anymore attention. She slowly lifted her arms, showing she had nothing else and backed away from the door, not breaking eye contact with the older of the two. He shut the door.

She heard them speaking but couldn't make anything out. All she could hear was her own heartbeat pounding behind her ears. She was finally going to do this. How much time had she spent already? Surely not all of it. She sat away from the door and waited anxiously, like when she was a child at Christmas. Her legs twitched and bounced with nervous energy.

After what seemed like hours, she could hear footsteps. Five sets, heading her direction. She spread out her robe on the floor as to sit off the dirt and offer him a place. As the door opened she tried to quickly fix her hair and sat back down. The younger member swung the door open.

"Stand." She did, brushing off her legs. She lowered her head out of respect. He looked behind him, bowed, and stepped into the cell sideways to let another in. It was him.

Altair. _The_ Altair. The Master. She tried to lift her head just the tiniest bit to get a better look. He was an old man, ancient by their standards, ancient by the Order's standards. His tunic, well worn and stained, hung off of him. She could smell the telltale copper of blood that still clung in his hair. Several fingers were missing. He motioned for her to stand straight. Fitz did as commanded, but kept her eyes down turned.

"Why do you smile so, woman?" he croaked.

She looked at him. "Forgive me, Master. It is an honor to be in your presence. I forget myself."

He faintly smiled. "It has been a great while since anyone was glad to see me. I do not remember when the last was." He looked to his guards and nodded. They stepped back and into the corridor, except the one in the room. Altair gazed at her, inspecting her, measuring her worth. Was he watching her with the eagle's eyes?

"Child, you have traveled a long way to see me. You bear a ring and a message." He held the ring, pinched between two gnarled fingers. "You are a wise messenger to bring proof of your Order, but do not bear the most telling mark." He shook his left hand at her.

"Master, we do not sever the finger where I am from. It marks women as untrustworthy and we have lost many because of its significance."

"Women are untrustworthy."

She bristled. Now was not the time to get into an argument of equality. "Some are, but the same could be said of some men, no? Even those who have taken the Oath." Okay. Maybe a little.

He breathed a moment and then nodded his assent. "You speak truth. There are many paradoxes by which we live. Our own Creed is example and proof." He held the ring up to his failing eyes. The circumscribed words on the inside in his own language were the Oath of the Order. "How did you come to possess this?"

"When I joined the Order and received my mark." She held her hand out for him. Again, he held it close to his face. His hand felt strange. His skin was thin, she could see. Faint liver spots were already forming. His breath was hot, but slightly labored. He had only a few years left, she remembered. She studied his face. He was gaunt, but not frail. He did after all, wrest control of the Guild back just this last year. A thought occurred to her. _Do the Apples prolong life?_

While she was musing over this odd hypothesis, he was dissecting her with his eyes. The branding scar. He turned her hand over several times, watching the callous disappear between her fingers and come around the other side in an unbroken circle. "We wear the ring to hide it and as a symbol of marriage to the Order. We remain faithful to the tenets as we do our vows."

"Then I return your ring, Assassin. Give me your message in return."

"Yes, Master." She turned her attention to the guard. "Can you scribe?"

"He is my son and knows his letters."

"You may wish to write this down, exactly as I will say it." He looked to his father who frowned and nodded. She backed away from the old man as the guard's hand went for his sword. He called for quill and paper, which were brought in quickly. A small desk was brought in. He stood over it, smoothing out the roll. He looked up and awaited her words.

"This will sound strange, but I assure you all is true as we can see." She paused and heard quill scratching against parchment. "Far ahead, into the future of the Order, there will come a light from the Heavens. In a land far away, God's hand will extend from the firmament and place upon the Earth a city that will become his throne. Man will govern his Law from this throne and will be looked to all over the far country for God's glory.

"Hundreds of years from now, God will send a messenger to bring True Guidance. The throne will be sat by Men who care for their own gain and not for those who look to them. The messenger will call upon the secret and the secret shall free the flock. The secret will strike like lightning from the hidden places and remind the Men of their heresy. The secret will restore God's balance and watch over the affairs of Kings and throne."

It became eerily quiet. She had stopped speaking and the two men stared at her. Fitz lowered her eyes solemnly as she could. Her heart beat in her throat. Had she remembered everything Burke had written?

"I have delivered my message. I will take my leave."

"Your words are cryptic, Assassin, and I haven't the time or patience for riddles these days. Be plain in your speech."

"Master, I cannot, for I little understand them myself."

"Then how did you come by them?"

"They were passed to me by another, a seer."

Altair's son scoffed. "A seer. Charlatan and heretic, most likely."

She shook her head. "Sir, I assure you. He said he had bitten the apple and the knowledge must be passed. To you."

She carefully gauged the old man's reaction. He understood what she meant now. The Apple.

"These words are not meant for us. They are meant for those long after. As I have relayed them to you, they must be protected here, in Masyaf, until those chosen may find it." This had to work.

The old man stood silently for a moment and raised his eyes toward the tiny skylight in the cell. Sunlight splashed across his face and his craggy face seemed like stone. The three in this room felt time pass all at once and not at all.

"Messenger." She bowed. Altair motioned for his son to move from the desk. He scribbled something and handed it to her.

"Take this. You are dismissed." The Master held the parchment in his hand. He wore the same expression she had seen from the Miles files when he dealt with the Apple. The weight of the world was upon his shoulders once again.

"Master," She whispered. "Please forgive me." He did not turn toward her or meet her gaze. He waited for the door to be opened and stepped out into the corridor. She and his son watched him leave. The dragging of sandaled feet drifted away.

"Dress and then you may leave. Your weapons will be returned at the road." With that, he left the room, with the desk..

Fitz resumed breathing. She had done it. Her hands were shaking, everything was. The seed had been planted, but would it take root? There was the question. She dressed quickly, covering her head and face. Time to go home.

The assassins standing watch waited for her. One carried her weapons. She looked him in the eye and he wrapped them in his tunic. She nodded and was led down the corridor. She tried so hard to remember what she saw, how things smelled, how they sounded. Nothing would stick in her memory as strong as this would.

The detail passed the portcullis and out on the main thoroughfare. She walked between the two guards silently all the way down the road into the village. She turned toward the one concealing her weapons, who presented them to her.

"What is your name?" He asked her.

"My name is the same as yours, Brother. Assassin of the Order." Fitz secured her weapons. She knew this would break social taboos of the time, but wanted to make an impression. She extended her left hand to him. His compatriot drew back slightly at the scene. He smiled tightly and held onto her wrist as she did his.

"Safe travels to you, Assassin." She nodded, took one more look at the fortress, and walked away.

Her mind was racing and completely blank. Everything seemed to be slowing down around her. _Please, don't tell me I'm dreaming._ She picked up the pace to make it to the jump point. A cart being pulled by a man went ahead of her. The road leading away stretched out ahead of her. She thought of something. _Posterity piloting me? I'm assuming I'm going to live long enough._

Sometime later (she walked slower out than she did into the village), she made it to the jump point. The road was almost deserted. A couple of merchants were set up a little further down, selling something. She couldn't make it out from this distance. No one was coming up the road, either. She had been passed several times on the way here. She reached for her holster that housed the element. She input the numbers Grant had so graciously written on tape on the side. The thing buzzed and blinked. She kept watching around her, but no one was there to notice. She counted down from ten slowly and -click- everything went white once again.

* * *

How will the team's action ripple through the timeline? Stay tuned!


	3. King's Long Arm

She felt her body slam into something and bounce away. Noises were being made but they didn't make sense. Fitz' eyes wouldn't focus right away. Things swirled around her. Where was she?

"I'm coming!...on..." She thought she heard. She looked in the general direction of her hand, which was being pulled over head. Was she being dragged?

"Heyn,staw..." she drawled, taking a bluff swipe. Her mouth wasn't working.

"Fitz...oothere..."

"Ahmfi..fizz.." People. They were standing over her, pulling at her. The ringing in her ears began to fade and voices took its place.

"...es, you're Fitz. Jeez, is she drunk?" Her hand flailed for a second and rested on the direction the voice was coming. "Gran? Zyoo?"

"Yeah, Justine. I'm Grant. Can you move?"

She tried to think. "Moveya. Yuss." Her hand twitched onto the floor, with a thunk. Grant looked down at her, trying not to laugh.

"Okay. I'm gonna give you a hand here. One, two, three..." He shifted his weight to grab behind her and hoisted her up. More swirling. "Hanover, can you-"

"Yeah, I've got it. Just a sec." She and Yusef were busy righting the Animus, tracking the vizor out of the way. Grant basically poured the time-traveler into the contraption.

"Burke? Anything?"

Burke this entire time had been poring over the database, searching for any clue that the plan had worked. He held up a hand to silence her, never looking away from the screens. Hanover turned her attention back to Fitz, who was still trying to form words.

"Is she alright, Yusef? She hit the ground pretty hard."

"True story," Grant chimed in. "She bounced right off of the Animus."

Yusef held a lead light in her eyes. She squinted, but he held her eyelids up. Instinct made her pull away. "Small concussion. Heart rate's elevated, but after traveling through time..."

"Is that what we're saying happened?" Grant's eyes lit up. "She did it?" He grabbed onto Hanover's arm. "Like for real-real?"

Yusef nodded. Grant hit the ceiling, cheering and dancing around. Hanover, though more reserved, celebrated as well. The medic returned to his patient.

"Can you hear me, Justine?"

She nodded faintly, eyes trying still to focus. "Uh huh."

"Welcome back, McFly. Came in a bit hot there."

"Did I miss or something?" Her head lolled to the side, trying to see what had happened. A wastebasket was overturned, a stack of files what were once on the workstation were now all over the floor.

"No, you just hit really hard when you landed. Kind of-" he made a motion of a stone skipping across a lake with his hands.

"Ah."

"Water? Aspirin?" he offered.

"How 'bout a beer and a bottle of Nyquil?" she half laughed. He did, too.

"Yeah, I think you'll be alright."

"Hey, did you bring me something shiny?" Grant asked, prodding her, peeking over the headrest. She stared off for a moment, then her eyes went wide. Fitz began feeling at her enclosures, tossing and turning. "Whoa, whoa. What are you doing? You need to be lying down." She reached a hand out, needing to stand.

"I'm all twisted up in these." She shed the bulky robes as fast as she could. A folded sheaf of parchment skittered to the floor. She immediately dove for it, carefully opening it. Grant looked down at her, on the floor.

"What is it?"

Fitz smiled. "How good is your Arabic, Thomas Grant?" He knelt down next to her and read aloud:

_We have received your Messenger. May she find you in the same condition in which she was sent. The apple's wisdom is protected here.- A._

"Holy crap! Altair?! He wrote you a note?!"

Fitz wore a big grin. "Aww. That's so sweet. Thanks, Altair." She stood up, leaving Grant in complete shock. It had worked. "Hey do we have like, a laminator, or something? I'mma frame this." The rapturous joy she oozed wasn't helping her footing. Every step had her teetering as she dumbly pushed books and files over, looking for her next tool.

Hanover took the parchment gingerly from her. "I'll go take care of this for you." She spun Justine around. "You go take care of you. Get some rest. You can tell us all about it later." The younger assassin suddenly realized how tired she was.

"Good idea. I'll go get some sleep." She turned toward Yusef. "I can go sleep, right? I'm not gonna die?"

He smiled warmly at her. "Not today." She returned the smile and followed the dark hallway back towards their bunks, hands and shoulder firmly against the wall. Yusef closed his laptop and joined the others. "Find anything, Burke?"

Burke, eyeglasses reflecting the glow, was still hunched over the screens was combing page after page in the electronic database. "Still looking. I'm really afraid it didn't work."

Grant slapped him on the back. "Hey, she just got back. We've got literally a thousand years of history to go through here. Baby steps, man."

"I've sent her off for some rest, "Hanover said, at length. "She looked dead on her feet. Yusef cleared her."

"Good. We can find out about her experience tomorrow."

Hanover opened the parchment. "I really can't believe this. We have a primary resource from Altair himself." She drew her finger over the script.

"It says he received the message and it's safe in Masyaf," Grant reported.

"Do you think it was sealed away in the Library?" Hanover queried. "Maybe it disintegrated or wasn't kept at all. I mean, he wouldn't be the only Assassin to turn down a mission."

Grant frowned. "Yeah, Auditore did the same thing, in the same place. Maybe Masyaf was a bad choice? He scrubbed the back of is neck with is hand. "Maybe that's where secrets go to die."

Burke perked up. "I think I've got something here." The others gathered in around him. "Look."

They were met with a single entry. _Messenger, The._

"Is that us? Click it."

The entry was not to be believed. A full write-up had been done. A search for "The Messenger" had begun almost as soon as she had left Masyaf. Skimming the article, it seemed the Polo's trip to the Citadel was just the spur Altair needed to send out Guilds around the world. There were scores of first hand accounts of full-on hunts and factions dedicated to the script. Altair's son even left an account of meeting Justine.

"The young woman was like nothing I'd encountered. Her manner was subservient and serene, but not to the law of Man. She seemed ethereal, like she herself plotted her own return. I did not think of this at the time, but now, looking back, I fear seeing the golden-haired woman again. My father bore a heavy weight and locked himself away protecting the Message and other artifacts left to the world. I copied it down and brought it back, sent it out with the others to the far corners. I can only pray that the next time we see her, her blade will be keen and strike down her enemies with the fury of Heaven."

Scrolling further down would show a charcoal sketch of what he remembered her to look like. Not exactly, but they knew who he meant.

The group stood amazed. They had done it. They had effectively changed history. They would remake the world. Burke smiled. His words had changed everything. The Templars would never be in power. With a little luck, they would cease to exist.

Further investigation revealed what else had changed with their actions. The Messenger had become a prevalent driving force, it seemed. New branches of the Order centered around the lore. Texts dating from the 1300s hinted at a small revolution among the Assassins. An attempt had been made to quash a rebellion in Portugal, thought to be the work of Templar agents. The assassins dispatched were met with a splinter sect of the their own, known as "The Throne", no doubt an allusion to the original prophecy. The members of The Throne had put down nearly all of the aristocracy in a bloody massacre. Those who were sent out reported the cult had been erased.

But it was not the case. Again, a new faction, this one known as "Les Secrete D'Roi," had proven to be far worse. This new organization had masterminded the French Revolution. They were led by a woman, Henri Valois, purported to be the Messenger. They planted themselves within the people's uprising and led the revolt against Versailles. The Messenger herself was revealed to be a fraud, but the damage was already done. The factions swift rise galvanized the masses of France to take action against the monarchy. Again, the Guild came after them. However this time, it was reported this mission was a failure. Les Secrete D'Roi gained a foothold, securing their place. This cult now over shadowed the Templars, who slowly died out and disbanded at the turn of the last century.

Burke sat a moment quietly. His plan had worked perhaps a little too well. _No. The plan goes forward._

* * *

But how successful will they be?


	4. Shouldering Responsibility

The next day began early for the group. Hanover was checking her feed over a cup of strong coffee. Her sleep had been fitful, which was nothing new to her. But it wasn't the "one eye open" sleep to which she had become accustomed. Something strange kept needling her brain all night. _Did we do the right thing?_ Her life had been devoted to Order since she could remember. She remembered hearing about "the farm" Miles had left when she was still a girl That was decades ago. But thing felt different now. Was this the effect of the time-travel? Had the ripples extended even to here? Had her own past changed? What if Justine was the only one unaffected by it?

Hanover rubbed the sleep from her eyes again. The words on her monitor were still blurry. She dreaded being able to read the news once her sight corrected. She looked around the dark room, trying to retrain her eyes. Grant was lying in the Animus, checking his notes and fine-tuning the machine. Yusef was scrolling through the database, amazing himself with their new history. Burke hadn't come in yet. Fitz was finishing a bagel over the sink.

"So, Fitzy, tell us about your little adventure," Hanover said at length. "I'm sure you've been bursting to share." Grant looked away from his notes for a moment and sat up.

"Yeah. What was he like?"

Fitz shoved the rest of her bagel in her mouth, signalling for a minute of chewing. "It was crazy! I was there. Really there. It wasn't like being in the Animus, watching through someone else's eyes. The smell of the place was earthy and cold. The fortress was strong. And Altair.."

"Super dreamy, huh?" Grant laughed. "Didn't take you for-"

"No, no. He was..." She wrinkled her nose at the idea. "He looked at me they way Burke does when he's being team leader-y. Like, through me." Fitz stopped a moment, trying to visualize the scene again. "It's was...I dunno. I'm at a loss." She scratched her head and sat down at the workstation. "I want to be able to explain it, but all the words I've ever learned wouldn't do it justice."

"What did he say about the message?" Grant asked. "Did he figure it out right away?"

Fitz shook her head. "He seemed confused and frustrated that it was all hush-hush and cryptic. I wanted to tell him straight out, but..." She shrugged. "Not what I was sent to do." She covered her face and yawned, hands then combing her hair back. "How'd I do?"

"Well according to this, we've changed focus. Quite a bit." Yusef waved her over. "The Messenger-that's you, by the way- has become bit of a bogeyman for the Order."

Fitz furrowed her brow. "I have a title? That's...cool, I guess."

"Maybe not. We did some digging after you went to bed," coughed Burke, finally making an appearance. His eyes were still red. He didn't look to have slept well, either. "The Guild no longer goes toe to toe with Templars, but the offshoot we've created. It's gone by a few names, but now it's known as 'The Secret'. It's a cult devoted to well, you, I suppose. They wait for the Messenger to make herself known and her fury will topple monarchies, corporations, so on, and so forth."

Fitz blinked. "Me?"

He nodded grimly. "To make things worse," he paused. "We're part of them."

Grant stood up. "Whoa, what? We- as in us, right now- are the-the bad guys?"

Everyone stopped breathing for a second stared at Burke. He lowered his eyes. "We're no longer Assassins. We are soldiers of The Messenger." He looked at Fitz. She had no idea what to say to this. She stammered to make any kind of cohesive thought, but nothing would leaver her mouth. She held onto her chair for dear life.

Burke took control. "Now, even with this information, we're going ahead with the plan. Our present doesn't matter 500 years ago. The Auditore event remains the target."

"But what if that timeline has changed? What if he's not fighting Templars, he's fighting...us?" Hanover posited.

"The Secret doesn't become a power until the late 18th century, culminating in the French Revolution. We can head it off at the pass, I think, if we trigger it with the Borgias, like we planned."

The group was silent. Yusef fiddled with the keyboard, tracing over the keys. "Let's do it. If we can't undo it, we must deal with our consequences We seem to still be retaining our original memories, yes?" Grant and Fitz looked at each other and nodded. "Then we'll have to live our new lives if we must. We knew that as Assassins we'd have to embrace whatever we needed to do to survive and protect the Order. The same must be true if we remain as members of The Secret."

"You can just flip it on and off, Yusef?"

"We must. Our loyalties have been tested before, haven't they? Von Friedrich?" Grant looked away, ashamed. Burke scowled at his medic, raising his hand slightly to get him to stop. Fitz had no idea who they meant. She looked to Yusef, but Hanover shook her head.

"He's right." Burke sighed. "This is our doing. If this doesn't fix it, then we go on." The air seemed to be sucked from the room. Everyone just stood awkwardly trying to make eye contact, but couldn't bring themselves to do so.

"So, let's get on with it," Burke huffed. "Hanover, keep an eye on what's going on. I imagine our access to the database may have been traced. We'll need to use what we remember and compare it against what we have now. Which brings me to Fitz. Go through our 'new' files and see how the Auditore timeline changed. Hopefully not by much, but let's have a look, yes?"

"I'm on it." She grudgingly pulled herself in her chair around to the workstation.

"Grant. What was your analysis of the travel protocols?"

The young man stood blank for a moment, almost in shock of the sudden change in topic. "Um. The..protocols seemed to be fine. I don't know how to fix the crash landing part, but maybe we can...set up pillows or a mattress? I guess?"

"You guess?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, I've never traveled through time before," he snapped back. "The holsters are fine, that's the important thing. She got back in one piece. Everyone will need an individual code for the big one, but yeah. It's fine. Moving the equipment though? Dunno."

"We've got a couple of days to get that figured out though." Burke was trying his damnedest to get the kid to calm down, but it was early. Grant wasn't great first thing. "Yusef?"

"Fitz looks good."

"That's so sweet." Fitz laughed tiredly, head on her chest.

"I can check her out more in depth later, if you like," the medic offered. "We'll need her to get cleaned up before the next jump."

Burke looked over his shoulder. "You hear that?"

"Take a bath. Check," came the reply.

Everyone went about their business for the next couple of hours. Nothing seemed out of place with the Animus and chatter was quiet from the Guild.

"Burke? Wanna come see?" Fitz asked in his ear. He had been reading.

"Whatcha got?'

She sat down and nodded toward the screen. "The Auditore timeline looks relatively unscathed. His father still gets betrayed, he grows up to rebuild the Assassins. Takes out the Borgias, goes to Constantinople. But-and here's the big part-he continues the search for the Pieces of Eden."

"He doesn't give up. Interesting."

"His daughter joins the Brotherhood, but dies on a mission. The Auditore bloodline ends with her."

"But it can't. It travels to America. Miles."

She looked up at him. "Not anymore." She glanced around and lowered her head toward the monitor. Burke followed her gaze. "Meet the new Desmond," she whispered. she scrolled down just enough for the eyes in the picture to be seen.

Hanover.

"How? You just said-" Burke started.

"Wrong daughter. He marries Sofia still, and they still have a girl. This one, however is the product of Sforza. Mommy must tell her all about Ezio and her lineage, so she goes of to fight the good fight, has two sons in the process, probably by other members of the Brotherhood. An Auditore by blood, but probably never recognized."

Burke looked at Fitz, who quickly signed off the database. "Not a word."

She couldn't take her eyes of of her. The woman not twenty feet away from her was the blood descendant now. History must have changed just enough. Unbelievable

"So what of the Apple that Ezio finds in Masyaf?" Burke whispered a little louder, so it wouldn't look terribly suspicious.

Fitz shrugged. "Somewhere held by the Order. I haven't anything about resting places, but I doubt they'd have that as public record."

Burke cleared his throat lowly. "Good find." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Very good." She tried to turn to him, but he walked back to his chair. Fitz decided it would be prudent not not follow up. She turned back to her monitor, but watched Hanover. She didn't look any different. _I wonder if she feels it. Would you know? _

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__Please don't forget to review! Love it? Hate it? Lemme hear you!


	5. By the Throat

"Come on out! I want to see!" Grant said.

Hanover wrinkled her nose at him. "Thom, you are way to excited about this."

He looked away, still smiling. "What? I think I did a really good job on this one. Can't the artist appreciate his own work?"

Okay, here I come!" Fitz called out from behind the door. She wore the corset and top of a Venetian gentlewoman, but with riding pants of the same design. Grant beamed.

"Please high-five me for this one." She did. Fitz couldn't help giggling.

"Grant, this is amazing! I feel like Cinderella, but with a totally awesome skill set and better shoes!" She gave herself a turn in the small mirror. Her hair was gathered in a snood and rolled about her face.

"You will definitely turn some heads with this," said Hanover. "Let's hope they're the right ones."

"I have a feeling it shouldn't be a problem." She cut an impressive figure, if she said so herself.

"Well, we're ready for you if you're done preening, pretty, pretty princess."

Fitz met Hanover's gaze in the mirror and nodded. Her demeanor immediately cooled. It was time to work. The three left for the work room, where the others were waiting. Upon entering, Burke stood up, taking in the sight

"Wow, this is good stuff," he laughed, opening his arms. "Come here and let me get a look at you." Fitz blushed and awkwardly turned for him. He turned to Grant. "Good work. It's period, but it works for a female assassin." Grant nodded, admiring his handiwork.

"I've been working on this for ages. Glad we finally get to field test it. Hold on a sec." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and lined her up. "Say cheese!" The picture appeared on the screen. Fitz' eyes were half closed, mouth open. Hanover wasn't smiling at all. Burke was, though. Yusef wasn't even in the shot.

"Close enough for government work!" Grant shrugged. Let's get the party started, shall we?"

They all went to their respective stations. Fitz jumped into the Animus, falling backward stiffly. "Corsets are hard to move in."

"This one will be harder, especially since its got a Kevlar lining. Fashionable enough for an Assassin, strong enough for a woman." He tried to toss his hair around like a shampoo commercial. Fitz laughed.

"Just shut up and get me hooked in. I can hardly breathe."

"That's the idea." He looked to Yusef. "Getting a reading?"

Yusef stooped over his laptop, shaking his head slightly. "One of your sensors is loose, looks like."

Fitz felt around. "This one?" She pressed one at her temple.

"That's it. She's online."

Grant walked around to lower the visor. "I'm not just saying this, because I built this, but you look amazing," he said quietly. She grabbed his hand and looked up at him through the vizor. He looked blue and distorted slightly.

"Thanks, Thom."

Burke gave the order to standby.

"Come back safe," Grant said, giving her hand a squeeze.

She smiled and closed her eyes. "Back in a flash."

"Welcome board Animus flight zero-zero-two. Destination: Florence, 1459," drawled Grant.

"Grant," Burke warned. Fitz opened her eyes a peek to see Grant agree.

"Mission target: Giovanni Auditore." There was the sound of typing and clicking. "Coordinates set. Landing and jump zone: West alley, two streets from the Auditore piazza. Countdown initiated."

This time, everyone stayed silent. Fitz could only hear her heart pounding. Again, the lights dimmed and she was gone.

"She'll be away for just a few minutes, then we'll reload her for the next."

Fitz opened her eyes to the blaring sun, directly in her eyes. She was lying on the ground.

"Are you alright, Signorina?" A figure blocked the sun from her eyes. A man was kneeling over her. She struggled to catch her breath for a second.

"I-erm-yes. I'm fine," she returned in Italian. "This damned heat," she sighed, trying to look genteel.

He looked her up and down. "I figured your mother would've fainted the same if she saw you in that outfit." He reached out a hand to help her up, which she took. "Guess it was brazen enough for you to faint, too."

"I thank you for your assistance, but not your sense of fashion," she said brushing herself off. The man shrugged and went back into the street. She breathed in the air and stretched. Italy, during the Renaissance. She could meet Leonardo! But that wouldn't be for another, what? Fifteen years? Oh well. Task at hand.

From the alley, she surveyed the scene. The piazza was just ahead; she could see the western wall from here. Fitz saw a shop stall catty corner to her position. A gallery, perhaps?

"Here we go." She straightened her riding pants, checked her holster nad her hair, and proceeded with her mission.

She crossed the bricked street towards the dealer's booth. People milled about, some arm in arm, or toe to toe speaking very loudly at each other, simply discussing the day or the latest goings on. As she approached, the dealer caught her eye and began his spiel,"

"Ah, welcome! Welcome! I have ths finest pieces of art to ever grace the world! Is the lady shopping to furnish her new husband's home? May I interest the young lady in something by Dellaroche?"

_Everyone assumes I'm married._ "No, thank you very much, but I actually find myself needing a quill and a single sheet of parchment."

The dealer arched an eyebrow at her and touched his collar. "Hardly worth my time."

"Please, Signor! It's a matter of the heart! I must pen a letter quickly or my love will be lost to me. You see," She leaned in and whispered maliciously, "there is another he has his eye on."

He sighed and nodded. "Fine. Have your intrigue." He crossed to a desk bearing his lockbox and snatched up a parchment and quill and slapped them down in fron of her. She thanked him profusely as he slid the inkwell to her. She thought a moment of what to say and scribbled them down.

"Oh thank you, a thousand times, Messere! May fortune smile on you always!" she cheered as she rounded the corner. She skipped a bit until she came to the next alley and ducked in. Fitz reread what she had written. This should do it. Slowly she approached the piazza. The walls rose higher than she had first thought. The courtyard was refreshingly cool. There was laughter and singing not far off. She felt sad for a moment. Soon all this would be gone.

"May I help you?" came a voice. Fitz snapped out of her melancholy to see a young maid before her. Her hair was pulled back tightly, but strands had fallen free. She seemed a bit harried.

"Is the house of Giovanni Auditore?"

"It is," she said cautiously. "What can it do for you?" Fitz wondered if this maid knew anything about the Brotherhood.

"I bear a message from my master, congratulating him on his newborn son."

"New born?" the maid scoffed. "if you consider three months 'newly born'."

Fitz started. An anomaly from the first trip? "I apologize on his behalf, we only just heard a few weeks ago. News travels slowly to Roma."

"But spreads like wildfire once it's there," spat the maid. "I'll take your letter."

"Thank you, but I am to see this to his hand personally. My master was quite insistent."

The maid brushed off her hands in her skirt and huffed. "Very well. Wait here." Fitz watched as the young woman clomped inside like a teenager asked to take out the trash. She fanned herself with the letter, hoping to abate the heat. The doors creaked open a few minutes later and she straightened up. There, coming toward her, was Giovanni. He seemed in good spirits, a bounce in his step. She smiled at the sight.

"Signor Auditore?" She curtsied low, but he waved her off.

"Yes I am."

"Pardon me, Signor, but I am to give you this," and she kissed him on both cheeks. "From my master." He instinctively recoiled for a split second, but once her intention was made clear, he allowed it.

"And who is your master? In Roma?"

_Oh. Crap._

"Medici. Cosimo Medici."

"I was not aware he had left Florence."

_Crap._

"Forgive me, I mislead you," she curtsied again. "Master Cosimo has been in Roma on business. We only just heard of your joyous news a few weeks ago. I've ridden for three days to relay his well-wishes to you."

Giovanni leaned his head backward. "Ah, that makes much more sense, much more."

"It seems the heat has addled my mind a bit. My apologies."

Again he waved her off. "None needed." He motioned toward the house. "I would be a poor host if I did not offer you refreshment from your journey."

"You are too kind, Messere. I must on my way."

"No, no, I insist. Come see my son, Ezio. I'm sure Cosimo would love to hear what you think of him."

She stood a moment, mouth open to say something, thinking as fast as she could. "If you insist. I will follow."

He nodded and began his way inside. She took in a deep breath and followed. As he entered the front hall, with her behind him, he rounded on her, and caught her in the throat. Caught off-balance, Fitz, fell back against the wall, air knocked out of her lungs. She tried to scream , but the banker wa stronger than she had been led to believe. He held her in place with his forearm squarely against her larynx.

"Foolish girl! Who are you truly? Tell me or I leave your corpse for the crows."

Her eyes hadn't completely adjusted to the darkness, but she looked down at her hand, still clutching the note, now completely crumpled. With his free hand, he snatched it from her. She could feel the metallic housing of the hidden blade against her neck from within his sleeve. She turned her eyes upward, blinking madly, searching for an escape.

He flapped the parchment open. "Cosimo has been dead for three years. Your Templar employers may want to check their information next time."

"Not-not Templar," She wheezed. "I'm like you. Look. Please." He frowned and turned her toward the wall, grabbing her left hand, pulling it behind her back painfully. She yelped a little, fearing he would break her arm. She couldn't see, but he felt him remove her ring and inspect her finger with his hand, scrubbing at the scar. Giovanni pushed her into the wall, before releasing his grip.

"The Guild is in desperate need if they've allowed you in."

"Don't kill the messenger," she grumbled, rubbing her throat. "I was just sent to deliver that to you. I don't know what is written therein. If it is bad tidings or trouble, it is of no doing of mine."

He snarled inwardly and returned to the letter.

"For what it's worth, my most sincere and best wishes for your son. He will have difficult road ahead."

Auditore looked up and nodded, grumbling thanks at her. "I do not understand what this means. 'The Messenger'? Is that you?'

"The Messenger?" she repeated, feigning ignorance. "As in the ancient one who came to Altair with the prophecy? That messenger? Why? What does the letter say?"

The banker looked on her, pulling the page from her view. "You believe in that story?"

She shrugged. "What cause would the codices have to lie?'

The banker straightened the knot at his throat. "That's a myth, a story to keep Assassins on the path."

_I'm the bogeyman._

"Perhaps, but what of the followers of The Throne?"

"Madmen." He grew suddenly dark. "Is your true Master one of these?"

"No, Signore! Surely not!"

"Go then. I will score this as a poor prank. If I see you again, you will be dead before your body touches my floor. _Capiche?_"

"Yes, Signor Auditore. I owe you my life."

"Yes, you do. Be off."

She bowed and backed out the door facing him, both neither truly trusting the other now. She walked straight out of the entrance to the piazza around the corner. Fitz held her breath, resolute on just getting home.

"Girl? Did your letter reach him?" It was the art dealer. She turned toward him. Immediately she burst into tears and ran. "Do not worry, Signorina! I have a cousin you would fall for in a moment!"

Fitz ran into the alley, and hit the buttons on her holster. She leaned against the wall, tears streaming down her cheeks. The flash took her.

She had only been gone a matter of seconds to her crew. This time, Hanover, Burke, and Yusef were there to catch her as she fell out of the Animus.

"Fitz!? Are you alright? What's wrong?" Burke brought her to a seated position on her floor. "Yusef, get your bag."

"No, I'm f-fine," choked Fitz. "I'm ju-just.." She cried harder.

"Did something happen?" Hanover asked quietly. She cradled the younger Assassin. "You're alright now."

Fitz pushed back, trying to get air. A wave of nausea hit her and she vomited. She sobbed between heaves. Hanover put a hand on her back. "Totally alright. We've all done that." Yusef grabbed handful of napkins and tossed them to Hanover. She looked up. "Grant, can we get her out of this for a moment, please?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah. It's just tied right there, " he said pointing. Hanover unlaced her slightly and she took in a huge, ragged breath. She rocked back and forth on her hands and knees for a little while. No one spoke.

"I failed. He knew something was up," Fitz finally coughed. Her head was throbbing, stomach churning. "He didn't understand it, and said if he saw me again, he'd kill me."

Grant looked to Burke. "What do we do?"

"We go on to the next date. Nothing's changed."

"You can't really mean that, Burke," Hanover chided. "She's scared shitless right now."

"Fine." Burke got down to her level. "Get cleaned up, take a nap. Be back at six."

"Greg!" she hissed.

"She's an Assassin, not a sorority girl. She got caught in a lie and escaped with her life. That's pretty damn good if you asked me. We face this every mission, so don't pretend like it's something new. Six." Burke left the work room, slamming every door from here to his bunk.


	6. Change of Heart

Wow! Thank you all who have left comments, favorited, and are on the alert for new chapters! Makes me feel all squishy inside. Hope you stick around for more!

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Exhausted. Plain and simple. Fitz felt every nerve in her body fray in that instant. She had failed on so many levels. She was discovered, she was caught, and she should've been killed. To walk away with her life was the greater shame. Her cot creaked when she turned over onto her stomach, full of dead butterflies. _I reek of failure._ _I'll just smother myself now and save Burke the trouble._ She pressed her face into the pillow, almost actually trying to do so. _ I'll probably fail at that, too._

She finally drifted off into a dreamless sleep. Some hours later, Grant came into check on her. He didn't want her to be hurting like she was, but what could be done? He'd never seen some one come out of a mission so shaken before. Was she going to want to go back in? She couldn't possibly be okay with pushing forward with this. But they were Assassins, at least they had been before they had changed everything. Did becoming The Secret undo everything they had meant to do? _Whose side are we on anyway? Hell, maybe we're following what the First Civilization wanted. Who the hell knows?_

Grant silently left the room and left Fitz to her shame-coma. In the work room, Hanover was sitting cross-armed on her stool going over the feed. She saw him approach out of the corner of her eye. Her body turned toward him, but her eyes shifted to Burke, who was determined not to make eye contact with anyone at the moment.

"How is she?" she asked her spy.

"She's asleep. I guess that's good." Grant sat on the corner of her desk. "I didn't want to get closer. Just let her sleep it off."

Hanover nodded, her eyes closed, appraising the information. "For the best. The first one's always the worst."

Grant frowned. "Oh?"

Again, she nodded. "I was what, twenty-two? Twenty-three? Thereabouts. I was in Montenegro back when it really wasn't save to be there. Serbo-Croatia has always been pretty bad, but then...you didn't want to be there unless you actually had to be there and someone had a gun to your head. I was on the trail of a Templar who was using civilians to run weapons back and forth across the lines. Real bastard. Half the time, they didn't realize it, just in the trunks of cars or whatever, jimmy then open and dropped them.

"I had this guy in my sights for days. Figured his routine, knew his men, his men's men. Complex, stations, caches, the lot. I go down to the back entrance, where some of the weapons were being offloaded. I get into a good position for the snipe. Sitting for three hours on my belly, freezing my ass off in this run-off pipe. This guy comes out at last, to survey his collection. Swear to God, he looks right down my sights at me, like half a click away, winks at me. I scurry out backwards through the pipe to have five of his men draw down on me. Some little kids saw me and told their parents, who told them in exchange for letting them go another week without paying protection."

She waited for some kind of interjection from Grant, but none came.

"Three days of getting beaten, threatened, torture..worse. I broke. Not gonna lie. I cried like a bitch and told them to kill me. I begged them to. I put the barrel in my own mouth and dared them to. They didn't. The man himself came in. I told him to kill me. He spit in my face and said no. I got to life with the shame that I had failed. Then, he brought the little boy who had reported me into the room. I knew exactly what was going to happen. He introduced the little boy to me. Sorka. That was his name. Sorka told me what his dog's name was. Noni. He told me what his favorite food was. Pizza, the way his dad made it. Then he was shot in the back of the head right in front of me. I shut down. I was untied, kicked one last time for good measure, then dragged out to the main gate and left there. My team had already left the country. A group of men carried me the American MASH unit a couple of miles away. My papers were missing, so I got deported after a stint in the prison hospital which was no picnic."

Her eyes were streaming, but her voice never changed. "But that...is a story for another day."

Grant sat dumbfounded. His eyes were glassy, trying desperately not to overflow.

"We're Assassins, yes. But we are human, too. We have faults. We cry, we lose our tempers, we switch sides for whatever reasons, we kill. Desmond Miles ran away and became a bartender and he was raised to be an Assassin. Hell, Ezio had his weaknesses. He left Masyaf empty-handed, quitting to have a family. He cried over women. It's when you completely harden your heart, turn off your empathy that you get into trouble. You become a killing machine, only good for that. When you can shut out everything and the only info you give is name, rank, and serial number, they'll just shoot you dead. We kill, but we do it to save something, to preserve freedom from the Templars who want to control.

"I guess the short version of all of this is: Live. Feel. Care. Care about something. She'll be okay in time. We need to be strong when she's weak. She'll be ashamed of herself for a while, but I can guaran-damn-tee you she won't let it happen again, and I bet you won't, either."

Grant shook his head. "Why did you tell me all this?"

Hanover pressed the insides of her eyes, milking her tear ducts to stop the tears. " Like I said. He told me to live with the shame. It's not shameful if no one else knows. Now," she said, patting him on the knee, "why don't you go and wake her up? I imagine it'll take her some time to get dressed and ready."

"Sure. Okay." He left his perch on the corner of her desk for the bunks.

"Grant. You going to get her up?" Burke asked. He didn't look up, which was probably good since Hanover was trying to calm down still.

"Yeah."

"Good. Make sure she's okay."

"On it." Grant continued back down the hallway. He felt like everything he had just been told was sitting squarely on his chest. How was he supposed to help Fitzy anyway? _I guess just...be there for her? _

He knocked on the door lightly, waiting for some kind of movement from within. "Fitz? Fitz, you awake?" Grant didn't hear anything, so he entered slowly. "Hey, it's time to get up now."

Fitz was rolled over on her side, facing him. Her eyes were red and her face was swollen.

"Come on, we need you to get up now." He sat on the bed next to her, putting an arm around her. "Think you can do that?" She just buried her head in her pillow.

"Hey now. I know this sucks. But you're here, right? You made it back."

No response, except for tensing shoulders.

"I bet every one of us has messed up at one point or another," he offered. He didn't know if Hanover had shared the story with her as she had with him. That was up to her. "But the truth is that you survived and you can fix it."

"Like Burke is going to let me do anything ever again." came the muffled reply.

Grant sat her up, pulling her shoulders. She looked a mess. He tried not to instinctively laugh. It was his little sister's birthday party dress incident all over again. "Now look. Burke's probably a little upset with you. But I bet he's glad you're safe. I didn't see him climb into the Animus and volunteer, did he? You're brave. You've gotten to touch history like nobody else."

"If by 'touching' you mean history threatening to kill me," she grumbled, wiping her nose on her arm.

"That's still more than Burke's gotten from it. We're all pulling for you, Justine, but you've gotta make it worthwhile. If you give up now, it's done. We're stuck in some new timeline where we're the bad guys. I don't wanna be the bad guy. Burke's plan made us the bad guys. You need to save us."

"Neither do I, but- but how can I fix it?"

"You have to be strong enough to continue. You have to complete this mission. You pull on your Assassin pants, fix your hair, deliver your message, take down the Borgias, then maybe, just maybe, we'll be rid of the Templars, find the Pieces of Eden, and never have to worry again."

She looked him in the eye for the first time through all of this. He was the newest addition to the group, but he hit this problem on the head. She took in a shaky breath and nodded forcefully. "I'll save us."

He smiled. "Good. That's my girl. But seriously, fix you hair. It's frightening."

For a second, he couldn't tell if she was laughing or sobbing.

"I was in a shame-spiral. What's your hair's excuse?" Laughing. It was laughing.

"My hair's fantastic, thank you very much." Grant hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. "Welcome back." The two sat on the edge, resolving silently to be braver. For Fitz, it was getting back into the Animus. For Grant, it meant actually kissing her.

"I'll let you get dressed. Come out when you're ready to be laced in, okay?" He stood up and left.

"Send Yusef in first. I want to be cleared medically."

"Sure thing."

Grant went down the hall again. He told Yusef she had wanted him to check her out first before she suited up. The medic went to his work. Hanover and Burke both looked up expectantly.

"She's back on board," Grant sighed. Hanover smiled secretly.

"Good job, Grant. Hopefully she'll learn." Burke put down his book and went back to the database.

Hanover walked over to Grant. "I'm sure she will." The younger mouthed a 'thank you' to her.

After a while, everything seemed ready to go again. Yusef had cleared her, she was laced, snooded, and ready to go once again. Fitz already felt better, but she knew she was going to have to try ten times harder. Burke, though neither knew it, was thinking the same thing.

"Can you do a final check on the date I'm landing on? I was off by three months last time." Burke opened his mouth but she continued. "-I know you're going to say 'that's not what gave you away' but I'd like to make sure we're hitting the right place. After all, it's my ass in the chair." She looked him dead in the eye. "Please and thank you!" She turned back to her leader. Grant shot her a look, not sure if he should be proud or terrified.

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Burke saluted, chuckling to himself. _Glad to see she's found her backbone finally._ Truth be told it wasn't a bad idea to check. He combed the database quickly, having re bookmarked pages he thought would be useful. The file on the Auditore line flickered onto the screen.

"Grant, check your coordinates against this date: 14 July 1475."

Grant looked everything over. "1475? For Giovanni Auditore's execution? That's not right."

"Yes. It should be 29 December 1476," Yusef interjected.

Fitz looked over her shoulder at Burke. His plan was to blame for this. "A full year and half off? Well, glad we caught that."

He blinked. "Indeed. That's what we have as his death date, so please adjust it accordingly."

"On it. Gimme fifteen, twenty minutes." The young man dove into his program to redial the date and location.

"Take your time and get it right," Burke said, but it was already being done. _Damn._ He wiped his face and exhaled heavily, scouring the database further. Hanover was turned away from him, so he thought to inspect her file again. She was still the blood-link to the Auditore line. Fitz' misfire in the past didn't change that. At least that was good news. He logged out and powered down.

"Fitz, come here a second." He waved her over. Her expression was a mix of beaten dog and exasperation.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're continuing on. I'm sorry I snapped at you. It wasn't fair and I don't know what happened."

She shook her head. "No, you were absolutely right: I was being a princess about it and took the encounter for granted. I'll be more observant and less trusting in the future." Her eyes were dark.

"Don't shut down on me. You're the best for this. That's why you're the one going in. We don't need you to be a robot, Don't think that's what I'm asking you to be. I am asking you to be careful."

"Okay, fine. I'll be careful."

Burke held her by the shoulders, inspecting her for a moment. "Okay. Get in there."

"You got it."

Once the new coordinates reset, the team took their places again. Grant helped her down again and placed the sensors. "You good to go?"

She looked down as she watched him hook her in. "Yeah. At least this time I can be the last thing he sees, so there's that."

Grant paused a second. "Don't get all revenge-y on me. That's not going to help anyone."

"Sorry." She stared into the visor. He tried to catch her eye, but she was not having it. He turned away and she lifted her ring and kissed her scar.

"Okay, set for July 14th in 1475. Mission target: Giovanni Auditore's execution. I'll be setting you down ten minutes before it happens in an alcove of the plaza."

"Good luck, Fitzy. You can do this." Hanover clenched her hands to offset the prickling sensation she was feeling.

"Count me down, Thom."

"Ten. Nine. Eight..."

The flash didn't stun her as much as it had before. Perhaps she was getting used to it. She looked around to orient herself. The scaffold was there in the middle. Three nooses hung from its support beam, hardly swaying in the breeze. A crowd was already beginning to gather. Fitz stepped around the column to join the mob.

When she had gotten about halfway, Giovanni and the others were being carted out by the guards. Someone called the crowd's attention to them and the booing and yelling began. She picked up the pace to get into position. Giovanni and his son Federico were being pushed up the steps to the deck. The traitor Uberto leaned in to his accomplice and exchanged low words. The elder Auditore stamped and shouted for someone to arrest Uberto, but no one came to his aid. _Good._

Fitz had pushed her way near the front of the crowd. The deck of the scaffold was too high to be seen here. She let herself be shuffled up in the mob, getting to a more central location. There, perfect. She could see them all. With everyone yelling and shouting, she figured how to make herself stand out. She stood perfectly still. The tide of the onlookers pushed against her, but she held her ground. Giovanni looked desperately out onto the sea of merciless faces. She couldn't be sure, but she was fairly certain he found her. It took about three seconds for him to remember her. His eyes went wide, but it did not stop the scene to be played out.

Within a few moments, Ezio, now a young man pushed his way through the crowd. As father followed son up until the last, she kept her eyes firmly locked on him. Uberto's call for the guards scattered the crowd away. She watched the soon-to-be-Assassin find his purpose for revenge, fighting for his life. As guards ran in from all directions, she casually walked back to her jump point. Her mission was complete. She looked at her holster and punched in her return code. The flash went off, drawing Ezio's attention for a split second before he ran from plaza to find the rest of his family.


	7. Nervous Stomach

So sorry to take so long between chapters! I got a bit stuck and sidetracked, but fear not, brave readers! More chapters are flowing freely and forthcoming!

* * *

Again, the team was prepared to catch her coming in. Yusef seemed a bit startled, having just seen her vanish seconds before. Fitz felt the air around her catch up as she braced herself.

"How'd it go?" Hanover asked. The traveler was probably still in a delicate state. The team sat her up as the medic slipped a pressure cuff over her arm.

"Fine, I suppose." She blinked a couple of times, shaking off the flash. "He saw me," she added darkly. Burke caught the dark look in her eye for just a moment.

"Good," he said warily, unsure if that was the correct response.

"Now what?" She wanted this to be done so she could fix what needed to be fixed and move on. Grant was carefully unlacing her so Yusef could check her out.

"Now, you get some tests done, so we can all follow you in for the big one."

"It seems as though the innoculations are holding up for shorts trips," Yusef offered. "Have you been having any problems with anything?"

Fitz shook her head no.

"Really? No aches or pains? Dizziness?"

"Like when I land, yeah," she said. "Is that bad?"

"That may just be the traveling." He tried to put her at ease. "I mean while you're here. Or there..not jumping."

"Oh. Then no. No, I've been feeling fine."

"And the vomiting from earlier?' he asked peering over his glasses. She felt her face getting hot.

"I was..distraught." Fitz stiffened up. "It didn't happen again." She didn't want to talk about it anymore. Yusef sensed this.

"Alright. Just checking." He removed his stethoscope from the crook f her elbow. "Heart rate's elevated, but-" he shrugged it off as par for the course. Everyone seemed convinced that she was being given a clean bill of health. "I will, however," he added, knowing she was going to hate this, "need to draw blood, just to make sure everything going as planned in there."

"Oh no, please, no," she whimpered. "I hate needles."

"I know you do. But it'll just take a minute."

She looked to Burke for support. "Right after I jumped? That can't be safe."

"Sorry, Fitz. Doctor's orders." Burke gave Yusef a nod, assenting to it. Yusef returned the gesture. Fitz wanted to be mad, but she knew she was being a baby. She sucked in a breath, and stiffly extended her arm to the doctor.

The whole thing was over in three minutes. "See? You lived," Yusef taunted. It did help that Grant was holdinig her hand the whole time under the guise of using her as a ballast as he ducked under the Animus to check the integrity. "You travel through time and you're afraid of needles. Honestly, girl."

"Yeah, yeah."

Hanover brought her a biscuit from the tin. "Here you are. Have a snack." Fitz leaned back on the Animus, chomping on a cookie. A hand gave her a surreptious pat on her leg, which she playfully swatted away.

Burke was engrossed in database, sifting through any changes. Nothing jumped out at him yet, which he hoped meant nothing had changed again. Sending her in for this final time was going to be a huge undertaking. All of them were going to have to follow her in and set it up.

The next couple of days passed without incident. Hanover picked up something about The Secret (she kept having to remind herself that currently, they were on that team) moving into an Assassin territory in Japan. Grant checked security around their building, tightening angles here and bolstering defenses there. He wasn't terribly certain from what they were guarding against now. Yusef ran Fitz' bloodwork several times to confirm her health and the viabililty of the vaccines. The same cocktail was administered to the team members in intervals to prevent from the entire team being out of commission at once. Burke was back on his feet in hours.

By the end of the week, the team was in good spirits and began preparations for what they collectively called "The Big One". Grant and Fitz worked on the clothes and costumes necessary. They had been spending more time together this week. Grant was never so bold as to say anything outright and Fitz refused to be more than infatuated.

"Okay, so this," said Grant, buckling her holster, "has to be concealed on you at all times."

"Why can't someone just, I don't know, jump in and leave it the day before I come back?"

"Beacause, A: We won't know what day you'd be coming back and B: Because what happens when someone else finds it? And C: You may not be in the place we drop it."

Fitz thought for a second. "Oh. That makes sense."

"Yes I know it does. That's why I said it."

She snorted a little. Someone was getting snippy. "Now," he continued, "you've got the return coordinates memorized by now, yes?" She nodded and preceded to rattle it off. "Good. We don't want anyone else imputting those, so make sure you hang on to those up here." He pointed to his temple.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," she returned.

Fitz came through at the next interval. The small orchard was more spaced out than she had imagined. Rows wouldn't provide much cover. Grant was still heaving.

"How the hell do you do this?" he moaned, rolling onto his back for air, tears streaming.

"You get used to it," she said blandly, looking down on him. "Now get up. We've got work to do." He screwed his face up and extended an arm up. She pulled him to his feet. Hanover was awestruck by the scenery.

"It smells like heaven," she said dreamily. "This is insane." Yusef whistled for her to help him hoist the amp into the branches. They had only a few hours of darkness to work undetected. They worked well into the early hours just before dawn. The charges were set, amps checked, fly rig steadied and weighted, batteries charged.

"Let's get the tarp over that and lay low until tonight," Burke ordered. Anything that could be carried was while everything else was left under the tarp. Judging by the time of year, no one would be out here to harvest and in the weak morning light, the group couldn't see any signs of disruption in the rows. They steered clear of the farm house proper and made their way towards the poorer parts of the city, near the ruins.

"Remember: Don't touch, don't talk, nothing." Burke said lowly. Keep to ourselves and everything should be fine. Fitz, if you can, try to sleep. You're going to need it."

"Right."

"I brought some fruit if anyone gets hungry," Yusef said pointing to his pack. "But not a lot, so, go easy."

The found a place in the shade of the Circo and camped down. It seemed quite a few other groups had the same idea. _When in Rome..._

The day passed agonizingly slow. Fitz was trying to sleep all day, but the noise of the people kept her awake. Her nerves were fraying. She was going to mess this up. In her head, she must have replayed every conversation she had ever had. From Christmas when she was five, to her prom, her induction into the Guild. This was what she was born to do. Dreams were escaping her. Her rest was fitful and short-lived, catching maybe only a half hour here and there. Yusef passed her an apple every few hours, but she felt too nervous to eat. He realized this after the second one he had given was just poked full of nail marks.

"Do you mind? Someone could've eaten that," he snapped.

"Sorry," she muttered. "Nervous."

He was going to continue, but she was. He just nodded and sighed and turned back to whatever he was working on. Poor girl. "Do you want to practice your Italian? Could help take your mind off things?"

"Thanks, but no, I want to try to keep my mind clear."

"And how's that going?" He said, eyes on the apple. She turned over, toward the wall.

The sun had gone down by the time she woke up again. The team was beginning to get as antsy as she was. Grant was pacing around, kicking rocks, here and there. Hanover, fiddling with something small, like a piece of straw. Burke, sat against the wall, where she had seen Yusef last. His eyes were closed, but he didn't seem to be sleeping. Yusef was out of eyesight somewhere, maybe praying.

Time passed oddly around her and the group. She remembered getting up, trudging back to the grove, setting everything up, checking it all once again. Hanover doused her over and over in the burn oil, to keep her from actually burning. It stung her skin in the air. Mics and pulleys were set and ready. Fingers flitted over holsters, setting return protocols in advance.

"Are we ready?" Burke asked. No one spoke or made any move. They all stared out over the grove, over the fields. Grant switched on the amps and hit 'play' on his mp3 player. The most woofer breaking bass note, known by car stereo enthusiasts as 'the burp' rumbled out into the night for what seemed an hour. The track ended and there was the most still silence, followed quickly by verbal panic down in the streets. Burke flipped a switch. "Let there be light." And there was.


	8. Burning Lungs

"Look upon me and fear," he commanded. Some of the more pious dropped their pike and fell immediately to their knees. "I look upon you and I dismay. I give you Justice and Retribution, and you sell indulgences." Grant held onto the pulley that bore Fitz aloft. She was freezing, covered in the burn oil, half naked. She was pretty sure she smelled awful.

"Behold, the Messenger is nigh!"

She let out a scream as Hanover lit the oil. It was a strange sensation, to be ablaze, but not burn. The paper wings she wore ignited quickly as she descended into the clearing. The heat threw her hair around her face, her robe fluttering as it burned around her, eyes turned upward. Grant realized she hadn't looked beautiful at all until this moment. His reverie was broken by his palms sweating so badly, he lost the cable. Burke watched coolly as she hit the ground hard. Grant cursed at himself.

"Messenger, give them the might and fury of the Lord and remind them of their place." Yusef tugged onto his line, signaling Burke to prepare to launch. "She shall live amongst you and offer you salvation to the worthy and retribution to those who deserve punishment." The leader rose into the air and within two seconds, the group abandoned her to her mission. The lights, amps everything, gone. Silence and darkness.

Time to work. Fitz lay in the dirt, flaming wings turning to dust, choking on the ash while unhitching the tiny cable that held her. Several of the men crowded around her, looking in the trees of the orchard for the others they would never find or see again.

"Give her air!" someone called out. A soldier spread his arms to back up the crowd who were trying to get a glimpse of the supposed angel. She purposely blew into the dirt, kicking it up into her eyes to blind herself momentarily. She scratched at her face out of instinct, pushing herself up onto her hands and knees, the rest of the robe falling away. The oil still ran down her back from her hair. She wheezed and reached up, crying in some nonsensical language for them to come back. Torches were coming this way. She collapsed into the dirt again, and the crowd crushed around her again.

"What is all of this?" a man on a horse called to the crowd. Some near the edge, turned toward him, as if he was waking them up from a dream they didn't want to leave.

"An angel, Signore! An angel fell from Heaven to save the righteous and punish the wicked!" A flurry of prayers began around the middle.

"An angel? You're mad!" The man slid down from his horse and pushed his way through the crowd. In the center was a nude young woman, eyes streaming, covered in dust, head to toe.

"You, girl! What is the meaning of this?" he addressed her roughly. Fitz wasn't worried. She knew the crowd would never allow him to touch her. Women were pulling at his jacket, screeching for him to get back. She decided to have some fun. She kept asking him "Where am I?" in a rush of about nine or ten languages, getting increasingly terrified as he did not understand any of them. A couple perked up at the phrase in French, but she continued through to their home Italian.

"Roma, fair one!" a woman shouted. "You are in Rome!"

Fitz sat for a moment, puzzled slightly, as if trying to make her brain understand the concept of Rome. She let the light turn on in her eyes. "Roma," she whispered. She climbed to her feet, unsteady. Grant had managed to knock the air out of her when he dropped her. She wasn't going to let that one go. She stumbled forward dramatically, clutching onto the jacket of the man demanding answers from her. She looked up. Fitz gasped audibly.

"Auditore," she breathed. He looked equal parts mystified, skeptical, murderous, and humbled, all changing in instants. She couldn't decide which to capitalize on first.

"You know my name? Who sent you? Speak!" Ezio pushed her away from him. Was it revulsion? Fear? She let herself be thrown to the ground. A chorus of wailing started around him and her. Fitz reached up for him, but was blocked by another man.

"Please! Get her something to cover herself!" Women clucked and men tried to quickly look away. Some even managed to. Fitz decided this angel had no need of shame, since it wasn't she who bit the apple. She climbed to her feet again as a couple of shawls were wrapped around her.

"Thank you," she said, peacefully touching each woman on the face. They lapsed into crying and prayers. Other followed suit. She kept her eyes fixed on the legendary Assassin, who in turn, was appraising her. He was still a young man, but he wasn't supposed to be in Rome until right before he killed Roderigo. So much of the time line changed, it could already be. Maybe he was here for her. Was he a believer of The Messenger?

"I am here to call upon the secret and bring true guidance," she said. He didn't betray any feeling about it. The crowd murmured about this. She held his gaze. "Am I the one you seek?"

Ezio thought about drawing down on her. This slip of a woman knew the prophecy, so she must be a member, mustn't she? Maybe she was sent as a prank. A trap? He opened his mouth to denounce her, but there was a gunshot. The crowd of witnesses screamed and parted after a pair of carriages emblazoned with the coat of arms of the Borgias rattled up the path. Armed soldiers backed the crowd up as they pulled in front of her. Ezio backed away and disappeared in the crowd. She could sense his rage rising, still seeking his revenge for his family. _Not just yet, Ezio._

A large man clambered out of the carriage, followed by a younger man. Roderigo and Caesare? She toward the second and saw the silhouette of another.

"I demand to know what happened here." She fought the urge to stand toe to toe with him. Fitz looked at him like a child staring at a fish tank. A sense of wonderment and superiority, while being humbled by it. At least, that what she was trying to convey.

"She fell from Heaven!" A voice called. There were shouts of agreement. "We all saw!"

Caesare scoffed. "Surely this is some ruse! This little whore has you all fooled!"

"I am the Messenger. I bring the true guidance," she said. She kept her face soft, but her voice loud and clear. Cesare frowned. Did he not know? He snarled at her and raised his arm high to slap her down, but Roderigo caught him by the wrist.

"Father!"

"No, Cesare! If she is, we need to treat her like the most precious treasure, the most delicate glass." Roderigo leaned in and in a low voice, whispered "She will be our undoing otherwise." He turned his attention to her. "Yes, Holy Messenger. Please, let us bring you to comfort and hospitality." The smile he gave her seemed like that of a salesman. She winced inwardly but returned his smile. She stepped toward the two men and the elder put an arm around her and helped her into his carriage. The crowd again crushed into see her one last time. Fitz extended her arm through the portal, feeling a thousand grasping fingers at once. Roderigo signaled to his men to back them up. Roderigo followed her up, causing the carriage to shift and rock.

"Cesare, ride with your sister," he commanded. Again, Cesare had been denied. He did not hide his loathing from his father, slamming the door shut. Fitz looked through the ornate paneling. She saw faces, hands reaching for her. She could not find Auditore.

"How are we to address you?" Roderigo asked as the coach lurched forward. Shouts for the rabble to move away and pleas for salvation were all she heard. She turned toward him in a moment. He was watching her expectantly.

"I was not listening. Forgive me," she smiled. "You said...?"

He smiled tightly. Borgia was not used to being ignored, much less by a young woman. "I asked you your name, Messenger."

She perked up at the use of her title. "You may call me Messenger, if you like."

"But your name?" Was he trying to humanize her? She looked out the paneling again. "I have none. I have existed forever but have had no need for one," Fitz said flatly.

"You must have a name, Messenger." His tone was measured, but his body language was tending toward impatience.

"Then please lend me one, if it matters so greatly to you." She sat rigidly in the compartment, trying to figure out how to keep from bouncing around as the carriage clattered along the dirt road, heading for the city.

"I do not deign to name a heavenly being." Roderigo put a hand to his chest, shaking his head. False modesty.

"Do not waste my time." She half-stood and flung the door open. He shouted the driver to halt which happened in about ten paces. The horses reared slightly and whinnied. She looked out into the dark. A man had stopped walking along the road, to avoid the carriage. "You! Man! I have no name! Give me one?"

He seemed thunderstruck, not sure how to appraise the scene. A woman with honey-colored hair, barely clothed, in a coach bearing the heraldry of the Borgia. Was that Borgia himself? Aristocrats... "Pardon, my lady?"

"What name would best fit me?"

He stopped and thought. His expression went soft in a hurry. "Aurelia?"

"Is that your answer?"

"Yes."

"Thank you very much. Bless you!" With that she shut the door and resumed her seat opposite Roderigo, who could not believe what he had just witnessed. "You may call me Aurelia."


End file.
